October 10, 2005
Machines to clean our dirty laundry and to dry our clean laundry for us are ubiquitous in America, yet the desire to shilly-shally doing it dilly-dallies. Simply tally it up and one reason might amount to your merely getting back what you started with, slightly faded. An excuse to leave dishes in the sink.
I'm three weeks away from getting off. A machine that pollutes our atmosphere but clears our heads, one flight at a time, of a kaput caput polluted with emptiness. If you like it rough, traveling will get it on with your brains and impregnate your mind. From a stationary stance, it's tempting to liken traveling to taking laundry from machines, getting back what you started with. Resist! Even getting back via a round-trip ticket, it's solely laundry that goes in circles.
The rules of life, if you believe in rules, are arbitrary. One current rule is that a visa to enter Brazil would have taken me ten days to obtain in Sydney. Another rule is that a flight out of Cape Town, South Africa can be overpriced. The rule that makes these rules relevant is my prevalence to act spontaneously.
A machine took me from Sydney, Australia to Buenos Aires, Argentina last Friday. The streets in Retiro have led me to tango dancers, clothed with clean and classy cloths, precisely moving horizontally, closely stimulating simulating a precise vertical movement. And the serving of salubriously fresh apple juice in coffeeshops has encouraged me to repeatedly drink salubriously fresh apple juice.
Once you realize your potential is unlimited, which it is, the next few years of your life become significantly more challenging to describe than the past few years. The more I learn, the less I know. The less I know, the more I want to learn. The more machines I fly on, the fewer machines I put my clothes in, and this is the second day in a row I've donned this shirt and boxers. Getting back, I'm already getting back more than I started with, so where's the laundromat?